Also playing

Over the past 30 years,
cult films have gone through something of an evolution. Once thought of as
obscure, inaccessible works relegated to midnight shows at boutique movie
houses, they have developed into a genre of their own.

In 1977, David Lynch, the
hero of aspiring cult filmmakers everywhere, kicked off the concept with his
feature-length debut, Eraserhead (kicking
off Dryden Theatre's Lunch series on Wednesday, February 2, at 8 p.m.,
271-4090). As the prototypical cult classic, it was made on a next-to-nothing
budget and has since taken on an almost mythical quality.

Much has been written about
the confusing images, the simplistic story line, and the hit-you-over-the-head
symbolism. Many have attempted to attach lofty meaning to Lynch's downright
bizarre composition. The problem with this sort of discussion, however, is the
pretentious assumption that weirdness equals art. Lynch is desperate to
convince us this is the case. Don't be fooled.

Set in some dark industrial
city, Eraserhead introduces us to
Henry Spencer, a random piece of flotsam tossed about by his harsh environment.
On learning that his girlfriend, Mary X, has recently given birth to his "baby"
(a brilliantly constructed, completely convincing, hideous mutant creature),
the two are forced into a stupefying marriage, in which they both eventually go
mad.

The film segues into a
series of increasingly grotesque sequences, designed to convey the nightmarish
quality of Henry's (and perhaps our own) existence. Is Lynch commenting on his
own fears of parenthood? The apocalypse? No one, not even Lynch himself, seems
sure of the meaning of the woman in the radiator with the puffy cheeks, or the
factory that turns Henry's severed head into pencil-top erasers.

The persistent question
while digesting all of this is, unfortunately, who cares? Were it not for
cinematographer Frederick Elmes (an RIT graduate), whose keen understanding of
lighting and black-and-white photography single-handedly creates this film's
overwhelming sense of moody horror, it would simply deteriorate into a cheap
version of surrealism.

Eraserhead
is best viewed for what it is: a cult film and not much more. With its abundant
immaturity, Lynch's film is suitable for those who seek shock and entertainment
under the mistaken guise of artistic virtue.